


Where We Overlap

by 7iris



Category: Supernatural
Genre: I Saw Three Ships, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-06
Updated: 2009-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7iris/pseuds/7iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellen didn't meet the Winchester boys under the best circumstances, so it took Dean awhile to hit on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We Overlap

**Author's Note:**

> For dessert_first in the 2008 I Saw Three Ships Exchange, for the prompt "comfort."

Ellen didn't meet the Winchester boys under the best circumstances, so it took Dean awhile to hit on her.

Then one day she put their beers down in front of them at the bar, and Dean looked up and smiled, slick and easy and charming, and not at all subtle. She gave him a flat, unimpressed look, and his smile shifted, became more genuine and a little rueful. She snorted and turned back to her work.

But he kept at it whenever they stopped by, giving her little compliments and heavy-lidded glances. She didn't think he meant much by it. From Sam's long-suffering looks, she kind of thought Dean flirted as easily and automatically as breathing. She'd been shutting boys down since before he was born, and it wasn't any effort at all to roll her eyes and shake her head and go on about her business.

But it niggled at her, at the part of her that was prideful and stubborn and reckless, that didn't care to be taken lightly. It was that part of her, that irritation, and maybe that shitty day that made her stop and turn around when Dean told her how pretty she was looking.

She let her voice go low and whisky-rough and leaned in close to say, "Careful, Dean, you're going to bite off more than you can chew."

Dean looked surprised for just a second, then he grinned. "I don't know, I'm pretty good with my mouth."

Next to him, Sam covered his face with his hand.

If that part of her had been smaller and quieter, if she'd been better than that pride and stubbornness, she'd have a few less scars on her body and a few less cracks on her heart. But she wouldn't have had Jo, either, so.

So she took Dean to bed.

She rode him hard, pulled out all the tricks she knew, made him call out God's name and hers when he came. Afterwards, his eyes were wide with something almost like reverence when he looked at her, and that only fed the warm pool of satisfaction in her belly.

She didn't ask him to stay, and he didn't offer. She slept deep and sweet and didn't dream.

In the morning, she found Sam at the kitchen table, his notes spread out in front of him. He looked up at her, and a tiny line appeared between his eyebrows, not quite a frown.

She raised one eyebrow back at him, and he flushed bright red and dropped his head.

"Morning, Sam."

"Morning," Sam mumbled back, and she fought the urge to ruffle his hair like a puppy and got herself a cup of coffee instead.

They left on a hunt and came back, and Dean's eyes still followed her while she worked. So she took him to bed again and let him show her what he could do, what he'd been learning from all his years of flirting in bars. She gave him a few directions, because it didn't do to let a boy like that get cocky, but he wasn't all talk—he was very good with his mouth.

Afterwards, he put his boots back on and went back to Sam, and she said nothing to stop him.

The next time he came back was after Jo had—had gone off on her own.

It was late, after closing time. Ellen had taken to locking the side door last, and when it creaked open, that tiny, unkillable hope leaped in her chest.

But it was just Dean. She looked over his shoulder automatically. Sam wasn't there.

Dean sat down at the bar. He looked worn and exhausted. She poured him a whisky, and he rolled the glass between his palms for a moment.

"I don't suppose you've seen or heard from Sam in the last couple days?"

She took a sharp breath. "No, I'm sorry."

Dean nodded and tossed back the liquor.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I don't know. He just—I just woke up and he was gone, and his phone's turned off, and—" He stopped, and she refilled his glass. He glanced over her shoulder at the postcards pinned to the wall. "You heard from Jo?"

"Just postcards." She forced a smile. "When I see her again, I'm going to wring her pretty little neck for making me worry like that." She'd been saying that a lot lately, and the words came out more like a prayer than a threat.

Dean met her eyes, and she recognized the look in them. The things they feared were different, but the heart of it was the same. This time when she refilled his glass, she poured a shot for herself as well.

"Stay the night," she said. "You can get Ash to help in the morning, and ask around the bar tonight."

Dean nodded half-heartedly, and, oh, he was John's boy all right when it came to asking for help, but he followed her upstairs.

Long as it had been between men, it had been longer still since she'd let anyone stay. When she woke up in the middle of the night, Dean was warm and solid next to her. She watched the moonlight track across the floor, and listened to his steady breath, and it was an odd, unexpected comfort.

**::**

They killed the demon and sealed the gate, and she made it back to Bobby's place on adrenaline alone. It wasn't until she was in the rickety old shower that she began to shake. Grief clung to her heart like sticky black tar, and part of her rejoiced that it was Ash and not Jo who'd died. That relief made her feel sick and shamed, but it would not leave her. She couldn't get the feel of the demon's power off of her skin, either. No matter how hard she scrubbed, she could still feel the helplessness of her own body turned against her.

She made herself stop, finally, while the water was still warm. Made herself get out and dry off, and put on the robe Bobby had lent her. It took her three tries to tie the belt.

Dean was in the hallway when she stepped out of the bathroom. He looked as hollow and shocky as she felt, and she wanted, sudden and fierce, the comfort of something other than the whisky bottle.

She didn't know who moved first, but their mouths met, pressed together, hard and breathless and desperate. The kiss broke, and Ellen pulled in a shaky breath.

She didn't know what caught her attention, but she turned her head and saw Sam standing at the end of the hallway. His eyes were wide, and there was something like longing and sadness on his face. Dean turned his head and she heard his breath hitch in his throat.

She closed her eyes for a second. She couldn't—Family was more important. She stepped back, but Dean's hands tightened on her hips. She looked at him, his uncertain face, then back at Sam, and then she held her hand out.

She would swear that she only meant to offer the comfort of companionship and sleep, but when Sam cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, she took what he offered with both hands. She opened her mouth and kissed him back. Dean closed the door behind them.

Sam broke the kiss and scooped her up to carry her to the bed.

"Show off," Dean muttered, digging through his bag, and Sam actually smiled a little at that.

Ellen snorted. Sam set her down on the bed. She untied her robe, let Sam push it off her shoulders.

He met her eyes before he touched her, sliding his hands over the curve of her waist, cupping her breasts in his huge, callused palms. Dean knelt on the bed next to them, and she turned her head so he could kiss her. The hard, desperate edge had faded into something sweeter, easier, and she sighed against his mouth.

Sam's hands moved lower and she laid back. The first touch of his mouth against her skin was careful but not hesitant. Sam was as good as his brother, less showy but more patient. Dean kissed her mouth and throat and breasts while Sam slid his fingers between her legs and licked her clit. She came on a long, slow roll of warmth and pleasure, arching up against their mouths and hands.

Sam looked up at her, and she reached out and tugged him up into a kiss. She could taste herself on his mouth.

Sam lifted his head after a moment, and they both looked at Dean. Sam rolled off of her and Ellen ran her hand over Dean's thigh.

"Come on," she said, low and rough, and Dean shivered and fumbled just a little putting on the condom.

Dean glanced at Sam, then met her eyes as he slid into her. She dug her hands into his back and pulled him closer.

He fucked her as hard as he had kissed her, and it was exactly what she wanted. Everything fell away in the rush and burn of it, and her world narrowed down to physical sensation. Heat and tension coiled in her belly and built behind her eyes. She slid one hand between their bodies, stroking hard over her clit, and came with a muffled shout.

Dean shuddered over her and she dragged her nails down his back. Sam made a noise, and she tipped her head to look at him. He stared back, biting his lip, one hand on his cock, and the sight sparked a lazy curl of warmth.

Dean looked up, too, and she clenched her body around him. He came, perfectly silent.

Ellen reached out and ran her palm over the head of Sam's cock. Dean pulled out of her and leaned back on his heels, so she could sit up and get a better angle. She stroked Sam easy and practiced, her palm slick with his own wetness. Dean put his hand on the back of Sam's neck and pressed their foreheads together. Sam took a harsh breath, and came.

They stayed like that for a long moment.

"This doesn't mean I forgive you," Sam said quietly, but something had eased in his voice. Ellen looked away, concentrated on wiping her hand off and tugging her robe free.

"I know," Dean said.

Sam lifted his head and frowned a little when he saw she had her robe in her hands.

"Stay," he asked, and Dean nodded.

She hesitated, but in the end she let them tug her down into the warm bed and pretended to forget until morning.


End file.
